


Unchained Link

by Mylls



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, F/F, F/M, M/M, Post-Season/Series 15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28735305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mylls/pseuds/Mylls
Summary: It's after the end of things. Life continues on while Dean is "livin it up" in heaven. But it's never that simple, is it? A freak occurrence sends Dean into another time stranded back on Earth. And he thought his hunting days were over. But, no worries. His knight in shining armor comes to the rescue. Hijinks, therefore, ensue.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak
Comments: 15
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1: Before the Opening credits

**Author's Note:**

> This idea wouldn't exit my cerebrum, thus now you all suffer the consequences. I make a few references. See if you can spot them. And, Enjoy!

**D** ean was cruising down the empty road- if you could call going 90 mph ‘cruising’. The classic rock tune of ‘Carry on My Wayward Son’ was blasting through Baby’s speakers which seemed somehow more amplified than Dean remembered.

“So, this is heaven, huh?” Dean said to no one. He could feel the little hairs on his neck blowing from the wind through the open window of his 1967 Chevrolet Impala. The smell of the vinyl upholstery mixed with hot motor oil and exhaust fumes permeated his senses. He smiled.

In all his short life, the hunter has never felt this free- free of burden, free of that weight he constantly carried with him, free of so much pain and loss. He somehow knew his baby brother was living a good life back on earth. He deserved it. And seeing Bobby again- HIS Bobby, not some alternate universe Bobby- left Dean feeling happier than he could remember.

“Of course,” he said out loud hoping someone was listening. “I’d be happier if I had an angelic sidekick to keep me company.” He turned his head to the right, towards the empty passenger seat, and sighed in disappointment. “It was worth a shot.” He stretched his right arm out against the seating as if the space beside him were occupied.

When Bobby mentioned Cas, Dean was thrilled to know that his best friend was not rotting away being tormented in “super-hell”. He figured Jack must have rescued him from his own eternal damnation and immediately put him back to work in restoring heaven to all its full glory. The fact that the little angel nerd had a hand in rebuilding this paradise was like he was still there, even if he wasn’t physically there. Though it would have been nice to have a bigger “welcome home” party waiting for him. It would have been nice to see him, especially after….

“I’m sure he’s busy”, Dean said. Still, seeing Bobby, having Baby, and driving down an empty road with no real end in sight was a beautiful thing.

Dean looked ahead. The sky was giving the impression of a perpetual sunset- light blues turned into darker shades of blues; the blues blended into the yellows and oranges; oranges turned into red then deeper reds. The eternalness of it all began to sink in. How long as he been driving down this long stretch of road? Better yet, how long has he been listening to this same song?

The second verse began- guitar chords in tune with the drums’ beat. “I’ll stop in a little while”. Dean was going to enjoy every moment of this while he could. He let Steve Walsh’s vocals wash over him as he pressed down on the gas pedal just a little, burning rubber on the sun-soaked asphalt as he went along.

“On a stormy sea of moving emotion, I set a course…”

The music suddenly crackled like bad reception cutting in and out. A moment of fluctuating static interference passed before it was replaced by white noise. Dean scrunched his forehead. He played with the dials on the dash, to try to fix the signal. “Do I even need a signal in heaven?” he thought. “How the hell does that even work here?”

He started questioning the use of the term ‘hell’ while in heaven when the music came back on. The sound of the electric guitar, however, was replaced by soothing crooning and a soft bass beat.

“Oh, my darling…. I’ve hungered for your touch…”

“What the fu- “, Dean exclaimed out loud.

“A long, lonely time…. And time goes by so slowly…”

Dean’s foot loosened on the gas pedal as he glanced back and forth from the road to the receiver. He tried changing the station again, but the song remained the same.

“God speed your love to me…”

“What the hell?” Dean mumbled.

“Dean.” The song cut out to a low gravelly voice, only to go cut back to the song. Dean’s breath hitched.

“I’ll be coming home. Wait for me….”

A crackle in the sky caught Dean’s attention. In front of him, the sky turned an angry shade of dark A lightning bolt crashed, splitting the sky in two. “This isn’t supposed to happen!” Dean risked a glance out the window at the brewing storm while quickly rolling up the glass.

The song played on. “And time goes by so slowly….”

A silent moment passed. Dean felt his heartbeat quicken out of panic. Lightning crashed with resounding clarity right on top of Baby’s pristine hood, lighting up the car like a disco ball. Dean shut his eyes tightly from the fractals of light crisscrossing all around him. The music played on.

“I need your love….”

The impala suddenly vanished into the pitch-black sky along with its singular occupant.


	2. Chapter 2: The Whitest White to Ever White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wakes up in an unfamiliar place.

**T** he incessant sound of a car horn jolted Dean out of unconsciousness. His head was pounding. Of course, heaven couldn’t have been a calm and boring place. He grunted as he slowly lifted his head from its resting place against the steering wheel. The noise stopped and he opened his eyes. The light from the streets added to the pain of Dean’s headache.

He looked around him only to see fog and maybe some sort of lake to his far left. Dean could barely make out the glint of moonlight off the water. Steam rose from the bent hood of the car. Dean quickly surmised that he must have hit the side of a bridge. When did he get to a bridge, anyway? It didn’t seem like a very long bridge though. He could see the edge of it a little far up ahead of him. Blurred lights through the fog were getting closer. The sound of a siren could be heard far off in the distance.

He lifted a hand to his head only to come away with blood. “Son of a bitch,” Dean slurred. His eyesight became fuzzy as he passed out.

When he came to once more, he was lying in a metal hospital bed.

“Oh thank, fuck. It was just a dream,” Dean mumbled. He tried to focus and take in everything. He was in a plain white hospital gown and nothing else. Alright, no total surprise there. The walls were white, the floor was white, everything was so damn white it hurt.

It was just a little square room with two windows on the left wall. Looking out, Dean saw white clouds across a white sky. Typical.

“Oh, I gotta take a leak.”. Getting the sudden urge, he scrambled to find a button or something to call for the nurse. But there was none. The hospital equipment in the room did not look like the modern stuff Dean was familiar seeing all those times he was laid up from hunts gone south. Not even a t.v. (disappointing) graced the little room with its presence. A small white nightstand stood flush against the wall to his left.

The door to the room was opened, thankfully, and he called out, “Nurse! A little help here!”

Dean didn’t have a very good view of the hallway. Even after leaning forward as much as his aching body would allow, he could only see white wall with white blurs of people passing by the room. At least he wasn’t alone, he thought. The sound of stretchers whizzed by followed by a few scrambling footsteps.

A heavyset older woman carrying a clipboard finally walked into the room. She had the worst sour-lemon look Dean ever remembered seeing. Oh, this will be fun.

He put on his best flirtatious smile. “Hi.”

“Our Mr. John Doe, I see you are awake.” Her tone of voice very clipped.

What he wanted to say was “What gave it away?”. But judging by her expression, Dean thought better of it and kept his mouth shut. He couldn’t help the eye roll, though, as she kept her eyes locked onto the clipboard in her hand.

“You were in a car accident. No serious injury aside from that gash to your noggin. I’m just going to check your vitals now.” She magicked up a glass thermometer from where, Dean was afraid to think too much about where. “Stick out your tongue.”

He looked at the thermometer wearily but did as he was told.

“Hold it under your tongue.” She started writing whatever nurses wrote on the form. “Do you recall anything about the accident?”

“No”. The thermometer slipped out. She forced it back in. She placed the clipboard down onto the bed beside Dean and continued checking him by whipping out a small light and gripping his face. She pulled the thermometer out of his mouth. Judging by her facial expression (straight and stoic), it was a normal temperature.

She checked his eyes for dilation and overall cognizance. “Possible concussion.” She picked up her clipboard and continued giving it her undivided attention. “You didn’t have any identification on you. What is your name? Is there someone we can call for you? A family member?” She finally looked up again and stared at Dean’s blank face.

“Uh, er.” Dean’s mind went blank. Normally, he’d have a pseudonym and a back story all ready to go for situations like this. But he was dead. He was supposed to be in heaven on a permanent holiday, not wherever the hell he was now. Though, judging by the dulled look of things and a bitter taste he couldn’t quite put a name to, he’d say he was back on earth. Thankfully he didn’t need to worry about coming up with anything because suddenly the room was occupied by a third person.

Dean’s jaw dropped. That third person was occupying the vessel of Jimmy Novak yet encompassed the prominence of Castiel, angel of Thursdays- his best friend; brother in arms. Those deep blue eyes stared back at him; his head slightly tilted to the side. He looked quite spiffy too. He apparently traded in his trademark suit, blue tie and trench coat for an army officers’ dress uniform complete with some shiny pins along both sides of the collar. “I am his brother. His name is Dean. I am Corporal Novak.”

The nurse seemed to get a case of the butterflies because she was all aflutter. “Oh, sir. Of course.”

If Dean noticed anything else at that moment, he would have seen a blushing smile finally formed on the nurse’s otherwise stern face. But he was quite oblivious as he too was in complete and utter awe of the devilishly handsome figure that now stood in the doorway.

“I was just informing your brother of his injuries- “

“Thank you, nurse. I can take it from here”.

“Oh, yes.” She moved to leave. “If you need anything, I will be at the front desk.” She made a small hum sound as if she just finished a scrumptious piece of pie, and then quickly left the room.

A moment of silence transcended the two old friends. Dean realized his mouth was still hanging open and swiftly shut it. He was so surprised; he couldn’t help the gulp that followed. “Cas?” He asked in a sort of reverence. “Wow”. A light blushed graced Dean’s freckled cheeks at the endearment.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel smiled that all too familiar smile, softening his features. 

At first Dean, was thrilled. But with the thrill of seeing his best friend came a bubble of anger at the disappointment of not seeing him in heaven. Why now? Dean tried to keep his cool though- take care of the current issue first. With a grimace, he shifted his body lowering his feet to the floor, so he was facing Castiel more fully. A cool draft from the gown reminded Dean of how little he had on and promptly covered his legs with the bed blanket.

“Don’t get me wrong. It is damn good to see you, man. But what the hell is going on? One minute, I’m driving down some no-name road, then a lightning storm hits me, and I wake up in the whitest hospital room I have ever seen.”

Castiel shifted from one foot to another. An army cap rested in the crook of his right arm and hip. “Well,” Castiel begins, “Dean Winchester, I am here to rescue you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any inaccuracies. I only have minimum knowledge of basic routines for car accident victims in hospitals. Please, feel free to leave comments below.


	3. Aren't You a Little Short for an Angel of the Lord?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exposition, thy name is Castiel.

**D** ean was surprised by the obvious use of a Star Wars reference. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Metatron imbued Castiel with a vast knowledge of pop culture some time ago. “Did you just quote Luke Skywalker at me?”

“Yes, although it isn’t an exact quote. But I suppose it pertains to the current situation.” Castiel replied.

“Which is?”

Castiel took a breath, choosing his words carefully. “There is an anomaly that has been appearing in heaven at random intervals. Jack and I have been having a difficult time, to say the least, pinpointing what it is or even exactly where it is coming from.” He took a few more steps into the room, closer to Dean. “Whatever it is, it has been causing these electrical bursts throughout heaven.”

“Like the lightning storm that hit me?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes. Jack has been able to fix most of them. Unfortunately, by the time we realized how close one was to your location, we were too late. You had already disappeared. It seems these storms created a sort of time rift. For a while, I thought I had lost you.”

Dean saw a glint of guilt in the angel’s eyes. His anger subsided. For that moment. “My head’s pounding. You’re gonna have to give me a minute to get all this straight. So, time rift- what does that mean exactly? Are we in a ‘save the clocktower’ type situation? How **DID** you find me, anyway? If I was lost? And, please, feel free to dumb it down for me.”

“A time rift is, well, a gateway. Much like the rift Jack inadvertently created between our known universe and the alternate ones. Though, in this case, it connected heaven with a perceived time here on earth.” Castiel looked behind him as if he just remembered there could be eavesdroppers. “We should finish this conversation somewhere else, Dean.”

“Wait. Cas,” Dean hesitated. “I need to know. What the hell happened to you? Last I saw, you were taken away by one of Venom’s relatives.”

If Castiel understood Dean’s reference, he did not acknowledge it. “It’s a long story.” Castiel chuckled lightly. “I will tell you, but that story must wait. This anomaly has been leaving small traces of residue, or energy, in their wake. Almost as if it is bleeding. It’s how I was able to find you, Dean. We should get you out of here. This time-period is not…. overly pleasant.”

“And what time period is that?” Dean questioned.

“The date is February 10, 1958.”

Huh? Dean was stunned. Why should he be though? He’s been to hell, purgatory a couple times. He’s even been to alternate universes on several occasions. He’s died more times than Voldemort had horcruxes. Still, he really expected the last death to count.

“Wait, I died. Shouldn’t I be a ghost?” What was that word Sam used? “Incorporeal?” Dean stood up. Screw being half-naked.

“It’s very technical, Dean. But apparently not. Even I do not completely understand the specifics of it all. You are very much alive,” Castiel swallowed taking in Dean’s body. “And from the looks of it, very much corporeal.”

Dean blushed. Did Castiel just flirt with him?

“I will explain more to you. I promise, Dean. But we should really move on now.”

Dean looked down at himself and waved his arms in front of him. “Uh, Cas buddy. I’m gonna need some fresh duds. Ain’t no one gonna let me out of this hospital like…this. Plus, it’s, uh…drafty”, Dean smiled sheepishly.

“Oh, erm yes. I can manage that. Stay right here.” Castiel left the room, leaving Dean.

“Yea, ok.” Dean huffed, feeling awkward. “I’ll just wait here then.”

***

Castiel reappeared in a matter of moments, holding out a folded set of clothes toward Dean.

Dean lifted the pants from the outreached pile- beige pleated and from the looks of it clean (thankfully). They were definitely not something Dean would voluntarily wear. But it’s not like he had much of a choice. “So, 1958, huh?” Dean looked to Castiel who answered with a shrug.

Defeated, Dean grabbed the rest of the clothes and traipsed over to the tiny bathroom connected to the room. After relieving himself, he swiftly washed up via the small white sink and changed clothes. The pleated pants fit almost perfectly. The shirt (a little snug around the chest) was a red and gray striped short-sleeved V-neck with matching-colored buttons down the center, stopping halfway. The shoes matched the pants in color too (“who did Cas steal these from?”). They were a half-size too big, but Dean figured he could manage. A cardigan completed the typical 1950s style. Overall, Dean felt self-conscience- he missed his flannel and boots. He grumbled once he was back in front of the angel.

He looked down at himself and mumbled, “I look ridiculous.”

“I think you look very nice, Dean.” Castiel averted his eyes when Dean’s head shot up.

“I look like a grandpa.” Dean said with a raised eyebrow. “I mean look at this. These pants practically go up to my chest.”

“You’re just being dramatic, Dean. I think you look very…. handsome”. Castiel smiled innocently.

Old nerves and fears started kicking in the pit of Dean’s gut. He wasn’t sure he was alive again before. But he was positive, that he was alive right then if the butterflies in his stomach were any indication. “Let’s just get out here, Cas.” He waved his arms toward the door. “Lead the way, man.”

***

They slowly made their way through the hospital’s halls, passing a few doctors and nurses along the way. They all were so busy; the two tall men were able to exit the building without causing anyone to take notice. Everything had such an ‘old-timey’ feel too it- from the paint chipping on the walls, to the clothes and hairstyles of the visitors, the nurses.

When they stepped outside, Dean’s immediate thought was, “so this is what Marty Mcfly must have felt when he stepped into Hill Valley for the first time”. The song Mr. Sandman began playing in a loop in his head.

Dean didn’t realize how much negative weight he had been carrying around with him all his life until after he died and went to heaven. It was like all that extra baggage was just left at the gate. But now…

Now, all that baggage started to trickle back in. His old fears and doubts were slowly making their way back to the surface. He mentally shook his head to try to push them down and looked to his friend who he now realized was walking away from him.

“Where exactly are we headed?” Dean asked.

“The energy I told you about. We, Jack and I, have a theory that the loss of this energy is…” Castiel paused and looked at Dean. “This energy is the anomaly’s life force- it’s bleeding out. Slowly, but every time it loses some of its essence, it grows weaker.”

“Okay. Well, if it’s bleeding, it’s alive?”

Castiel hesitated. “Yes. That is not all. The anomaly… is also affecting my grace.” Castiel continued walking down the street. Dean followed a few steps after.

“Okay, so what? You can’t use your mojo? You’re mojo-free man? Your limp? Flaccid? Impotent? You- “

Castiel stopped short and faced Dean. Dean felt heat rise to his face from the close proximity and cleared his throat. “No, I cannot use my mojo. At least not extensively. I can heal you if truly necessary. But it isn’t stable. And any energy I do exert,” he continued pointedly, “will not be replaced quickly. I can only use it sparingly. There’s more.”

“What? That’s not enough?” Dean was having a hard time keeping up. Too much at once. He really was back on earth.

“Due to this…interference… I have no way of contacting Jack. And Jack in turn has no way of contacting us.”

“So, there’s no way to get back to heaven?” Castiel nodded in acknowledgement. “Well, this just keeps getting better and better. Got any good news?” Dean finished with hope in his tone.

“I can still track it. We must find it before it’s gone, Dean. Because if we can’t, if it **is** growing weaker and weaker…”

“Then it dies,” Dean finished. “It dies and we’re stuck here.” Castiel nodded.

Dean finally looked up at the town that surrounded them. Women in long wool skirts; men with cardigans and neutral-colored shirts with button-down collars passed by them on the sidewalk. And the hats. So many hates. Some of the people even gave him odd looks (Dean was not quite sure why- two men standing super close to each other in an obviously heated and private conversation. What’s so strange about that in the 1950’s?).

The stores looked like old-fashioned mom and pop shops- advertisements for cola with an old-fashioned logo. A gas station across the street had a sign- “31 cents/gallon.” Signs were all over storefront windows for the most recent fashion trends, foods, liquor, cigarettes- you name it.

Dean chuckled at the cigarette sign. “25 cents for a cigarette is **too much**!” He quoted. Castiel squinted and cocked his head, looking confused. “Never mind”.

The thing about it all, was that none of it was old-fashioned. Sure, to Dean it was. But this was all new to everyone else. It was like stepping into a black and white Twilight Zone episode. Dean was just relieved he wasn’t alone in this one.


	4. Just Like Old Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel follow the trail and stumble upon a case.

**T** he car that Dean had found himself in before waking in the hospital was not his beloved Impala. Castiel had found the crashed car from the residual energy radiating off of it. The energy that resided from the electrical storm was so strong like a lighthouse beacon showing the way home. Dean grumbled about the lack of car, but Castiel had said that it was completely unusable which is why they found themselves following the anomaly's trail by foot (or rather, Dean followed Castiel). 

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two. Of all that they have talked about since meeting at the hospital, there was still so much left unsaid. It was what wasn’t said that made Dean feel that nervous itch, that niggling fear, in his stomach. He tried subtly glancing at Castiel while he was looking away. Dean had the sudden urge to stop the man and hug him like their lives depended on it. Castiel must have felt the heat of Dean’s gaze and turned his head towards the taller man. Dean quickly turned away.

His nerves quickly abated, instinct kicked in, when an ambulance suddenly drove down the road, its sirens echoed behind.

Dean and Castiel shared a look and sped up to follow. They found it a few blocks later. It had stopped in front of an old Victorian home. A police car sat in front of the ambulance. As Dean stepped closer to the scene, two EMT’s were pushing a gurney through the front door and to the back of the truck. A sheet covered the body that laid there. They slowly and carefully raised the gurney onto the truck.

Two deputies were speaking to a thin woman with a beehive hairstyle, Dean assumed, getting a statement. A little boy was pressed against her leg, both to hide his face and muffle his sobs. Her hand was absentmindedly patting the boy’s shoulder. Dean quickly surmised that she must have been the significant other to the deceased.

“Dean,” Castiel said getting Dean’s attention. “The trail stopped. There’s an energy spike here.” They both looked toward the woman.

They subtly inched their way to the woman and policemen, enough so that they’d be within earshot but still out of view.

“It just happened so fast. I-I I’m in shock,” the woman sniffled.

One of the deputies (the older-looking and chunkier of the two) spoke gently, “I understand this is difficult, ma’am. Any information though will help in uncovering what happened here.”

“Well,” she gulped. “We’ve been renovating the second floor, so it has just been an unruly mess up there. You see, we’ve just moved in a week ago and we have only gotten to settling everything on the first floor. Anyway, I was going through some of the boxes filled with kitchenware when I heard Hubert start to shout from the second floor. Only, it sounded as if he was having an argument with someone. Well, my goodness, I thought. Sweet Billy here was sitting just a short distance from where I stood, practicing his alphabet- the dear boy. I thought, ‘oh, how silly could I be’ when I heard another voice shout back.”

“Did you recognize the voice, Mrs. Smalls?” the second officer asked.

“Oh no. no no no no.” Mrs. Smalls raised the hand that wasn’t on little Billy’s shoulder, to cover her mouth for a moment. She continued, “The voice did strike me as odd though- deep, guttural. It was most assuredly a man’s voice.”

“And you didn’t hear anything else before the shouting? Something that might indicate a break-in. A window breaking, perhaps.”

“No. I’m positive- no.”

“Please, continue,” said the first officer.

“I was petrified to move. And the room,” she said shakily, “the room became so cold- I could see my breath.”

“It is February, ma’am,” the second officer mumbled. The first officer cleared his throat and scolded his partner with a piercing stare. “Um, continue. Please.” At least he seemed ashamed of his own comment.

“Yes, well. I stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs. I heard a gurgling sound, which I know now was…“ Mrs. Smalls placed her hand over her mouth again to stop from crying. She took a deep breath before continuing her account. “It was Hubert choking for air! The sound jilted me out of my stupor, and I ran up the stairs, calling for him. But it was too late. By the time I’d gotten to him, Hubert was lying on the ground.”

“And you didn’t see anyone?”

She hesitated. “It’s crazy. I’m sure I imagined it. I saw a figure…in the corner of the room. A man, an older man in a-a a sailor’s uniform. He looked so pale. He said something. He said ‘this is my house. I will not allow my house to be defiled’. He shouted it. He was so angry I could almost feel it,” she whispered.

A moment passed before anyone spoke. The second officer grew too anxious, however. “And then what happened?”

She looked straight at the second officer and said simply, “he vanished.”

***

“It’s a ghost, Cas!” Dean exclaimed.

“Dean, we do not have time for this.” Castiel stood stiffly in front of Dean.

After overhearing the widow’s account of her husband’s death, the two scrambled, albeit quietly, away from the scene and down a deserted alley. Dean immediately started rambling about hunts and ghosts and monsters, like a child being told they were going to Disneyland. He felt the fire in his belly- a hunt! A good, solid ghost hunt. It’s been so long since Dean felt that excitement to follow a case, work a lead, gank the bad thing and save a life.

“Cas, a guy already died. We know it’s a ghost. We cannot just walk away from this.” Dean insisted, looking at Cas determinedly. “ **I** cannot walk away from this.”

Castiel sighed in defeat. Dean smirked back, knowing he had won. “And what of the anomaly, Dean?”

Dean straightened up, trying to get his enthusiasm in check. “You said there was a spike, right? The trail sent us right to the house, and stopped? That is not a coincidence, Cas.”

“You are right about that. It does seem to be pointing to the conclusion that they are connected in some way.”

“So, we’re gonna work the case?” Dean almost begged. Castiel chuckled at his child-like whimsy.

“Yes.”

“Awesome. Awe, here we are again, Cas. Workin’ a ghost hunt. Just like old times.” Dean’s stomach growled as if it wanted to weigh in on the discussion. “And you know what that means? Huh? Buddy? Pal? Mis amigo?”

“Dean,” Castiel laughed.

“It’s time for food. And I’m pretty sure we passed a diner on our way over here. And there was a sign for…wait for it…'good old-fashioned homemade pie'.” There was a twinkle in Dean’s eye and Castiel did not have the heart to let the man down.


	5. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on present-day Earth, Sam struggles with life without his big brother.

**I** t started with a rumble and a growl from somewhere high above the clouds. Billowing white cumulus turned into dark nimbostratus clouds that hung low and angry. The rain followed a few days after and decided to prolong their visit.

The weather had certainly changed morose, in Sam’s opinion. His hunter instincts were ringing in his head like a Spidey-sense.

Of course, those days, all the 37-year-old felt was dark and morose. His age and aching back were surprisingly low on his list of things to worry about. Yes, he helped save the world (again)- helped put the world back right as it was once before, and saved billions of lives in the process. He should have been proud of that.

But his guilt for his older brother’s death outweighed the pride- guilt of the loss of his best friend, the one person he had always looked up to and relied upon. When the chips were down, when the shit got shittier, Dean was always there by Sam’s side to fix whatever needed fixing.

He stayed by Dean’s side when he asked him to. He said, “it’s ok”, without really feeling it because Dean needed it. And Dean deserved it. His older brother sacrificed so much for him, for the world, never asking for anything in return. It was the least Sam could do and at the same time the hardest thing he’d ever done.

Sam gave him a proper hunter’s funeral. He found an isolated spot in Kansas, a spot that Dean would have picked out. He chopped the wood, wrapped the body, and placed it on the pyre. Before lighting the fire, he prayed to Jack so he would not be alone, not really.

Jack had said he planned to be hands-off and Sam knew he meant it. Jack was in everything- from every grain of dirt to every single molecule in the air- and Sam believed it; felt it in his bones. Even though he was not there physically, Jack was there. It was comforting at the time.

Then time went on, the days passed by and Sam was less comforted by it. He left the bunker for good then. So many metaphorical ghosts roamed those halls. There was only so much pain Sam could relive again and again.

The hunter stayed in Kansas, not quite ready to move on. He kept on hunting but less so. He got a menial office job working for a low-level newspaper company that specialized in publications designed for lawyers and law firms. He rented out a decent-sized apartment.

It was boring, but Sam liked it. It kept him from thinking about Dean’s death- how what if he did this or that? If he did something differently, could he have saved his brother? Those questions sent Sam down a rabbit hole he did not want to get trapped in.

Yeah, distractions were good.

Like taking the time to be with friends and loved ones. Dean once told Sam that he wanted a big funeral- big and loud and everyone there together. Well, Sam may not have been able to handle the big and loud just yet, but he did owe his big brother the ‘together’ part.

No one berated Sam for not telling them right away about Dean, which was a relief to Sam- just one extra thing he would not have been able to handle. Jody did insist on a memorial, though, which was why Sam found himself on the front steps of Jody’s cabin in Sioux Falls, holding a boxed pie.

The rain was heavy and cold, and Sam was soaked through just from the jog between the parked Impala and the door. He hopped foot to foot waiting for someone to answer his knock. He glanced down to the soggy boxed pie and hoped it was still edible.

The notes to Led Zeppelin’s ‘That’s the Way’ reached Sam’s ears as the door finally creaked opened. Jody craned her neck upward and brightened in delight.

“Sam!” Jody exclaimed. “Oh, look at you. Get in here!” She moved aside, holding the door open to let Sam pass through. He shook himself from the excess raindrops falling in his eyes.

“Hey, Jody,” Sam smiled.

“Oh, here let me get that from ya.” Sam passed the box over and took his coat off. “Claire is on coat duty”, she said looking around the house from where they stood, “but of course she disappeared. She and Kaia are probably off doing… well, let’s not think about that.”

Sam chuckled. “No problem.”

“Hey, Sam” Alex walked into the hallway and reached up to hug him. “Here, I’ll take that.” The young dark-haired girl took Sam’s coat. She started to walk away towards one of the bedrooms when Jody stopped her.

“And find Claire.” Jody said. Alex replied with an “on it” and left the room.

Sam and Jody stepped out of the hall and into the living room. Sam was so distracted by the left-over rain on his now cold and damp clothes that he didn’t even notice the people. It was a small gathering of about 30 people. Some of them Sam knew from random hunts him and Dean have worked together.

From the back of the room, a short man with cropped dark hair lifted a beer towards Sam in recognition. “Is that Cole Trenton?” Sam mumbled more to himself.

“Yup,” Jody said next to Sam. “Word got out fast. A lot of people have just been comin’ in and out. There were even these two dorky guys- couldn’t have been hunters. Called themselves… Ghostbusters? No, that’s not it. Well, whatever it was. They stopped by too.”

“Dean helped a lot of people.”

“Yea. Yea he did.” Jody eyes watered.

“Jody…” Sam instantly hugged her which she returned with a pat on the back and a sniffle.

“We’re hunters. This is for Dean. So, no chick-flick moments.”

Sam laughed. “Right”, Sam affirmed.

“I’ll just take this pie in the kitchen. Sam, there are so many pies by the way.”

“You did say the theme was pie and Zeppelin.”

“You’re right. I only have myself to blame. Go mingle,” Jody left to the kitchen.

But Sam wasn’t alone for long. He was pulled in further to the room by Donna Hanscum.

Donna had that big, sweet smile on her face. “Sam! Oh, boy, is it good to see ya.”

“You too, Donna,” Sam smiled back.

“I do wish the circumstances were better. Sam, I am so sorry- “

Sam cut her off as quickly as could. “It is what it is.” He looked around the room. The song changed to some heavy metal song Sam didn’t recognize. “He would’ve loved this.”

Sam was quickly surrounded by people. After Donna, there was Precious Turner and Chrissy Chambers (“you’re hunting now?”), Jesse and Cesar Cuevas (“still retired?”). A group of hunters Sam hadn’t seen in ages were grouped together by the couch, sipping bottles of beer. Walt and Roy were among them.

Bobby and Charlie were not there, however. After everything that happened, the people from the alternate universe that Dean and Sam rescued, disappeared. Sam assumed Jack put everyone back in their place which meant all those people went back to their own universe. Sam would have appreciated seeing their faces again though.

Eileen had wanted to come but had been on a case in Ireland for two weeks. She was ready to board the next plane to be by Sam’s side, but he told her not to. After everything that had happened, his relationship with the mute hunter had been rocky at best. Chuck manipulating their lives was not something she was able to reconcile quickly with. Sam didn’t blame her though. They decided to take things slow and he remained hopeful.

Suddenly, Sam was pushed forward by the force of a bear hug from behind.

“Sam!”

Sam laughed. “Garth! Man, how’s it going?” Garth let go, allowing Sam to turn to face the tall lanky werewolf. He saw the distraught expression from Garth and said, “Garth. It’s alright.”

“No, it isn’t, Sam. But it will be,” Garth said knowingly. “If you need anything…”

Sam smiled in appreciation. “Thanks, Garth.”

It continued throughout the night- hugs and beer and pie and holding back tears. Though that last one was unsuccessful. Everyone at some point lost the strength to fight them back. Donna was holding Jody; Jody had one arm around Claire; Claire had an arm around Alex. The link went on.

It was just a mass chain of sadness and uncontrollable laughter as Claire told the story of when she and Dean went mini golfing. She omitted the parts about her mother, and Sam was fairly sure she tweaked the story a bit just to make everyone laugh a little.

They shared a knowing smile, and Sam’s heart ached. Dean really would have loved this. “No chick flick moments, my ass”.


	6. I Don't Know How I'm Gonna Tell You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean on a "date".

**D** ean was humming “That’s the Way” loudly while sitting in a booth opposite the angel. A couple behind them turned their heads in annoyance.

“Dean, it’s probably best if we keep somewhat of a low profile.” He nodded towards the couple.

“Oh, right,” Dean said shaking his head. “I miss Zeppelin.”

“I’m sorry. This must be strange for you.”

Dean sighed and nodded. “A bit yea.”

He looked around the diner that they were sitting in. The styles of diners hadn’t really changed much from the 1950’s to Dean’s time. It was a wide-open dining hall with booths by the full-length windowed walls. A long multi-colored speckled bar was on the left- a blonde waitress, dressed in a light blue uniform, refilled mugs of coffee to the few patrons that sat on the light blue stools. The upholstery on all the seats in the establishment were the same shiny plastic that Dean remembered from all the diners that he’d visited.

Really, the only thinking remarkably different were the prices- everything under a dollar. Even the food on the menu was the same- burgers and sandwiches, milkshakes, and sodas. And Dean couldn’t forget the apple pie (“15 cents a slice?! I’ll take 2, please!”).

Dean did not have any money on him. Why would he? He did not need it in heaven, and he wasn’t exactly planning the Back to the Future trip. Luckily, Castiel thought ahead and procured some money. Dean wasn’t too sure where, but he was not about to question it.

Castiel pulled some change out of his pocket and slid it over to Dean. There was a small jukebox flush against the wall on the table. “Why don’t you play something?”

Dean’s eyes lit up. “Thanks!” What to choose? Sifting through the choices, his smile slowly faded. “Right, the 50’s. It’s all doo-wop and jazz”.

“No Zeppelin?” Castiel asked cluelessly.

“Zeppelin didn’t form until 1968. I’ve told you this before, man.”

“Oh, right,” Castiel said sheepishly. “I must have forgotten.”

“Really?” Dean’s eyebrow raised in quiet indignation. “That’s what I get for saving the world. My own best friend doesn’t even know anything about my favorite band.”

Castiel looked sharply at Dean. His right hand disappeared into his coat pocket only to reappear with a pristine-looking cassette tape. He placed it reverently on the table with the label facing Dean.

The hunter fell silent, lips slightly parted. He slowly picked it up. The corner of one side of his mouth turned up as he read the label:

“Dean’s top 13 Zepp Tra xx”

“The song that you were humming is “That’s the Way”,” Castiel said. “It is a beautiful song. I might go so far as to say it’s my favorite.”

Dean gulped. Dean focused on the label; a finger traced the letters. Did the angel even know how much that meant to him?

Dean inwardly began to panic. This was turning into a chick-flick moment, and he could not deal with it just yet. He cleared his throat and looked up avoiding Castiel’s stare (which was uber fuckin’ tricky). He slid the cassette back and turned to pick a song from the jukebox.

He was half tempted to pick “Earth Angel” but thought better of it. “Too soon”, he thought. He ultimately chose a safer route and picked “Shout” by the Isley Brothers.

Dean continued playing “Safe” songs throughout their meal. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until he bit into his burger. This was heaven. Oh, how he missed the juicy salty taste of fried red meat covered in cheese and onions (“extra onion!”) and ketchup and pressed between 2 slices of seeded bread. He couldn’t help the satisfied moan that escaped his lips.

He looked up from his burger when Castiel choked. “Cas, you okay?”

With flushed cheeks, Castiel coughed a few more times before answering. “Just some food caught in my throat.”

Dean should not have been surprised that Castiel choked. He practically scarfed down all his burger and fries. Since this whole thing began, the angel was behaving oddly human. Castiel did say that the anomaly was blocking his angelic senses, but to what degree?

Dean felt concerned and was about to vocalize said concern. But Castiel peeked at him over his raised glass of water, a smile tugged at his lips crinkling his eyes, and Dean forgot what he was about to say.

There was tension in the air. A trapeze artist could have walked across the space between them and not have fallen. It was clear something needed to break. Someone had to say something. Dean just did not want it to be him.

After finishing their meal, Castiel placed his hands on the table. “Dean?”

“Yea,” Dean said with anticipation.

“I am a little embarrassed…”

Okay, well, now Dean was getting extremely anxious for this “unspoken thing” to finally be spoken. “It’s cool, buddy. Er, Cas, whatever it is, you can tell me.” He gave Castiel his undivided attention.

“It’s just,” Castiel lowered his voice and leaned into the table. “I need to urinate.”

That was not at all what Dean was expecting. It took him by such surprise, he burst out laughing.

Flushed, Castiel excused himself to the restroom.

Eventually, Dean managed to calm himself down. That probably was not the best reaction especially after he said that he was embarrassed. But Dean couldn’t control it. There was a huge tension bubble waiting to burst. “I’ll make it up to him”, Dean thought. Many ways he could accomplish that task sprang to mind and the tension bubble began to refill itself.

***

After Dean and Castiel left the diner, reality of their situation set back in. Time to get back to business. It was still daylight hours, so Dean suggested finding a library to do some research on the history of the Victorian house and its resident ghost.

They stopped a few passers-by for directions who seemed all too genial to help a uniformed officer in need. Why Castiel did not like this era was something that Dean questioned. Although, he figured, that probably had something to do with the fancy ‘costume’ he wore.

They found the local public library sitting on the corner of a populated street. Women with strollers were huddled together by a playground nearby. A group of men in tweed suits were on their cigarette breaks.

The cars were freaking awesome. Dean’s love of cars mostly centered around the 1966 to late 1970’s era muscle cars. Those were amazing beauties- built to last and to live in. Most of the models were large and metal and chrome and could withstand anything, except maybe gas prices. Some (like Baby) have proven to last the test of time. But Baby would not have been Baby if not for its ancestors. A cream-white 1957 Chevy Impala with red rims drove by, making Dean’s mouth water.

Beautiful.

Dean could swear the grill was winking at him as it passed.

But there was a downside to this decade- everything was so slow. Dean lived a life of having access to any and all information at the touch of a button. But this was a different time- a time without internet, a time without computers, a time without food delivery. It was a time where there was no electronic device attached to the hip and it left Dean feeling disconnected from the world. To put it simply, he missed "WiFi".

The library itself was pretty much precisely as you’d expect. A kiosk stood by the front entrance. It was littered with pamphlets and signs for book readings, informational classes, and a kids’ “knowledge is power” artwork display on a corkboard.

Farther into the room were two short staircases- one leading to the next floor, one to the lower. The two men followed the signs leading to the informational desk where a female librarian stood watch.

This was not your everyday librarian. At least not for the 1950’s. She did have the fashionable cat-eyes framed glasses accompanied by a tight bun hairstyle that was stereotypical of a librarian. But Dean could just tell, once the doors closed for the night, those glasses would come off, that bun would come undone, and the lioness would come out to play. At least, that’s what he imagined.

He walked up to the young woman; a flirtatious smirk spread across his lips. Once she took notice, her eyes gave him a once-over. A slow smile graced her face like a cat eyeing its next meal.

“And how can I help you today, sir?” she asked. Her voice almost purred if humans could purr. Her light blue eyes focused entirely on Dean.

“Actually,” Dean said. “My friend here and I are huge history buffs. We were just passing through town but couldn’t help but notice some of the houses in the neighborhood.”

“Oh yes,” she said adjusting the rim of her glasses. “This town is so rich in history dating as far back as 1728. Many of the buildings here are considered landmark sites often visited and lived in by the founding fathers themselves. Is there any particular landmark you were interested in?” She smiled coquettishly.

Castiel impatiently sighed and moved a few inches toward Dean, elbows brushed together. The scent of fresh earth and diner food filled the space around them. “4207 Maple Drive. We need all the information you have on this location. Now.” His eyes narrowed.

The librarian’s smile fell. The cat backed away from its prey. “I’ll see what I can find.” She scurried away.

Dean turned to Castiel, “Really?”

“Was that not the correct address?”

***

“Any updates on the anomaly? And are we really stickin’ with that name? I feel like we could do better.” Dean wondered aloud.

He’d been sifting through old newspaper articles on an old microform for the past two hours. The screen of the old machine was giving him a headache. What he wouldn’t give for an actual computer and some internet service.

The annoyed, quiet angel sitting across from him, arms folded, wasn’t helping matters.

“No,” Castiel said shortly.

“What’s with the ‘tude, man?”

Castiel responded with a turn of his head.

“Okay,” Dean murmured. He sighed before continuing, “I might’ve found something. An Arthur Munchin, born and raised in 4207 Maple Drive, was a naval officer. Got a couple medals of honor for his service, retired in 1952. One morning, he tried changing a light bulb, slipped on the toilet seat, smashed his head against the side of the porcelain throne and died. Ooh,” Dean hissed, “that’s embarrassing. It says here that he’s buried at Oak Hill Cemetery. That’s gotta be our ghost.” Dean looked up to see Castiel still glaring far off to the right. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say the angel wasn’t listening. But Dean did know better. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

“If you found all the information you need, then we should go. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.” Castiel abruptly stood and walked towards the exit leaving the hunter to scramble after him.

Dean rushed out of the library after his friend gearing himself up for an argument, and stopped short, suddenly enthralled at the dazzling night sky. The sun disappeared completely leaving a full moon in its wake. Bright little stars littered the night sky like salt spilt over black marble.

A shooting star fell, its tail followed in a dim glow against the dark canvas.

“I forgot how beautiful this can be.”

Castiel stopped and glanced at his awed companion. “Hmm.” He stepped beside Dean; eyes followed the nightscape. Their unspoken squabble forgotten for the moment. “You’re taking this displacement well. Do you not miss heaven?”

Dean looked to Castiel. “I was really only missing one thing.”

A heavy silence filled the space between them, and Dean felt the familiar panic rise in his chest. He cleared his throat. “We should, um… we should find a store, get some supplies for the 'salt and burn'.”

“Of course,” Castiel shook his head as if from a trance. “And we will need transport to the cemetery.”

Dean smirked. Finally. “I’m on it.”


	7. From Cars to Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam ruminates on the side of a highway while out on a hunt with Claire.

**I** f Sam were not concentrating on the map spread out before him, he would have seen the tail end of a shooting star peer out through some gray clouds. If Sam weren’t so fixated on the idea of justice and retribution by way of hunting and slaughtering a nest of vampires, he would have seen the 1957 Chevy Impala drive passed the two hunters hunched over the hood of Baby.

But Sam’s attention was centered solely on the map- flat on the hood of his black Impala- and the young blonde standing next to him, getting impatient.

“Sam, we’ve been over this,” Claire huffed. “The vamp nest is right there, west of those abandoned trained tracks. I staked it out myself.”

“Which I specifically told you not to without back-up. Remember, if something can go wrong…”

“It will. I know, Sam. I’ve been doing this for a while now.”

“So were me and Dean,” Sam murmured gaining immediate sympathy from the young hunter.

Claire sighed. No one ever knew what to say to Sam in those moments. Sam didn’t even know what to say to Sam in those moments. It was best to just change the topic as quickly as possible and hope that that would be enough. It was still a learning process though. And Claire was a very stubborn girl.

“Do you think Dean went to heaven?” Claire asked curiously. Sam knew that she didn’t mean any harm bringing the painful topic up. To be fair, Sam was also plagued by those sorts of questions- did Dean go to heaven? Is he revisiting his best memories? Or, since Jack is basically god now, maybe he let's Dean roam the entirety of paradise, visiting other people's heavens, like Bobby or their parents, or Charlie. These questions and dozens more ran laps in Sam's head, yet never coming around with any solid answers.

Yeah, Sam had questions. Although, he usually kept them to himself.

“You know,” he started thoughtfully, “at first I did. But lately, I don’t know… I just keep getting this… feeling. Something isn’t right.

“Could it be because this weather has gone nutso recently?”

Sam smiled. “Yea…maybe. Anyway, Jack wouldn’t have let Dean rot in hell. Not after everything. No, he’s gotta be in heaven,” he said half-heartedly.

“Maybe he found Castiel,” Claire said hopeful. “Maybe they finally got over themselves and shacked up. Livin’ the domestic dream life in heaven.”

“Shacked up?” Sam asked bemused.

“Well, yea. They were totally…” Claire looked at Sam’s confused expression and seemed to decide against finishing her thought.

“What?”

Thunder rumbled from somewhere out in the distance causing the two hunters to look up. Another storm was on the horizon. They still had time.

Claire took the momentary distraction as a sign to change the subject.

“How’s things going with Eileen? You ask her to move in yet?” Her attempt at light-hearted subterfuge seemed to work.

Sam chuckled. “We’re taking things slow.”

“Slow?” she scoffed.

The elder hunter turned. “How’s things with Kaia?” Ahh, the tables have turned.

“Amazing,” Claire said defiantly, folding her arms across her chest. “Actually, I was thinking of asking her…” she trailed off, a blush forming on her cheeks.

Ahh, young love. Sam almost forgot what it felt like to be so in love and scared and excited all at the same time. Not that he does not feel those things for Eileen. But with age comes a new sort of deference to the whole ideal of love. The passion was still there, just a little calmer, a little less intense.

And Sam was fine with that. He had enough of intense, for a little while at least.

“Anyway, we should get a move on if we want to reach that nest by daybreak.”

Sam folded up the map. The two hunters got into the car, Sam behind the drivers’ wheel. He turned the key in the ignition, bringing Baby back to life. The engine’s sound of purr meets roar pervaded Sam’s ears. Sometimes, it was as if the car was weeping, missing its true owner. He gave the steering wheel a comforting pat.

He turned the radio dial with a click. Ella Fitzgerald’s voice accompanied the deep tone of Louis Armstrong's.

“Stars shining bright above me…”

“night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’…”

“Sam,” Claire smiled. “You know, slow is good too.”

The elder hunter nodded and let the notes of “Dream a Little Dream of Me” take over.


	8. Another Place, Another...

**D** ean was in his element. He lucked out and managed to find an unoccupied 1956 Chevy Bel-Air hardtop, sky blue and ivory exterior, with matching interior vinyl bucket seats. Dean breathed in that old car smell and smiled to himself.

He pulled the car to the curb in front of a strip of shops, which included a hardware store, clothing outlet, a smoke shop, and a convenience store. Castiel stood on the sidewalk, exasperated, waiting for Dean with shopping bags in both hands.

Dean leaned over the front seat to unlatch the side door for the angel who quickly placed the bags in the backseat, then climbed into the passenger side.

“I bought you something.” Castiel twisted towards the back and sifted through the bags.

“You got me a present?” Dean asked. Castiel turned, dropping a heavy object into Dean’s upturned palms. A Smith & Wesson model 29, .44 magnum handgun. It was the kind of gun Dirty Harry kept by his side. “Oh, this is awesome!”

“I figured that will be useful to you at some point.”

“Hey, do you feel lucky, punk?” He was strangely proud of his impression of Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry.

“What sort of luck? Are you expecting something that requires luck?” Castiel completely missed the reference.

Dean rolled his eyes and put the gun aside. “Never mind.”

A glint of light from the street lamppost shone onto a clothing department’s window display. “You got any more cash on you, Cas?”

“Yes,” Castiel fished some out of a pocket. “We are beginning to run low on funds, Dean. It might be best- “

Before Castiel could finish his sentence, Dean had already grabbed the outstretched handful of money. “Be right back.”

The angel grumbled to the empty car.

Dean reemerged a short time later with a completely different outfit. The gray pleated pants were replaced by dark cuffed jeans, black boots, and a white undershirt. A leather jacket completed the outfit, making Dean look like a badass Greaser.

He shifted, smirking at an oddly quiet Castiel. “Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold.”

This decade was starting to grow on the hunter. From the cars, to the clothes, to the quaint shops. He was even beginning to enjoy the music. Though it was not what he preferred (it was not hard rock), it was not half bad. It was better than millennial pop music anyway. And there was Elvis. He could dig Elvis.

The angel was relatively quiet for most of the drive. Dean pulled into a crowded parking lot outside of a lounge bar. A bright-lit sign that read “Peppermint Club” glittered in their direction.

“Dean? What are we doing here?” Castiel narrowed his eyes.

“The cemetery is 10 miles west of here. It’s still too early to go sneaking around without raising some eyebrows. Way I see it, we’re here. We might as well kick back a little, enjoy the “Golden age”. Besides, man, I’ve been here for how long? And I haven’t touched a drink once?! I think I deserve a little hooch, huh? When was the last time you let loose a little too? We both deserve it.”

Castiel sighed. “I suppose we can stop to have one drink. If we have ‘time to murder’.”

Dean ignored the mangled phrase and patted Castiel on the shoulder. “There ya go. The 1950’s was kinda cool- I mean they got Elvis Presley and poodle skirts.” The hunter glanced at his uniform-clad companion with a nod. “Gotta admit, though, I’m digging the outfit. Definitely better than a poodle skirt.”

Dean practically jumped out of the car before Castiel could respond to his pathetic attempt at a flirtation. “Play it cool, Winchester,” he mumbled to himself.

From that heart-wrenching moment back in the bunker, Dean had not been able to get that eloquent declaration of love out of his head. No one had ever spoken with such deep devotion for him before. He honestly did not believe that anyone could love him like that. And then Castiel disappeared, seemingly forever, leaving Dean alone and lost. He never fully processed all that was said.

Even still, it thrilled him and terrified him how much he wanted to reciprocate those feeling that Castiel felt. But that niggling fear kept holding him back. He thought he left it behind in heaven. Apparently, he had a stow-away.

The Peppermint Club was surprisingly packed for a Monday night in 1958 middle America. The large oval hall was adorned with red and white spiral lights that hung from high ceilings. A wooden dance floor occupied the center of the room, encircled by intimate round tables covered in long white table-clothes. Musicians were playing on a small stage in the back of the room. A man in a wool jacket belted out some tunes while being backed by a group of three women in fancy blue dresses and fancy hairdos.

But what Dean was really after was the bar.

Dean waved the stout bartender over. “A white Russian and a…pink squirrel for my friend here.” The bartender narrowed his beady eyes at the two men before making their order.

Dean turned, his back against the bar as he watched the dancing couples.

The song playing on stage ended with applause. “Thank you, gentlemen and gentle ladies,” the wool-covered vocalist said to the crowd. “We are ‘Jaybird and the Squealers’ and we hope you are all having a bitchin’ time. We are gonna kick it into full swing for you now. I hope you all have your dancin’ shoes ready.” He counted the band down, “and a 1, and 2 and a…”

“One, two, three o’clock, four o’clock tock…”

“Dean,” Castiel nudged the hunter’s elbow. The drinks lay on the bar in front of them. Dean lifted his drink to the bartender as if in thanks but all he got back were narrowed beady eyes.

“Drink slowly,” Dean remarked to his friend. “I don’t think he likes us,” referring to the bartender who was already preoccupied with other customers.

Dean smacked his lips together after a long sip of his white Russian. “How’s your pink drink?” Dean smirked.

“Hmm,” Castiel responded contemplatively. “It tastes like a strawberry milkshake. I like it.”

One thing Dean could say- Jaybird and the Squealers put on a good show. They played mostly covers, sticking with upbeat numbers even he could dance to. Some of the songs that he recognized (‘jailhouse Rock’, ‘Hound Dog’, ‘Sha’boom’) were mostly Elvis Presley renditions and that song from ‘Clue’.

Castiel was clearly over his jealousy from Dean’s earlier interaction with the librarian. After the third round of pink squirrels, Castiel, was subconsciously bouncing his leg along to the rhythm of the music, a pleased smile replacing his earlier frown, blue eyes crinkled in the corners. Dean could not help the warmth that spread through him.

After resolving the issue with “Chuck”, saving the world (family, friends, loved ones), after Jack fixed everything, Sam and Dean were supposed to be able to live a life that they wanted-free to make their own choices. And Dean tried. Without his best friend by his side, though, Dean was having a hard time readjusting to the new “normal”.

He refused to let this second chance at love slip him by.

“On behalf of Jaybird and the Squealers, I would like to thank you for spending this night with us. And now, we’re going to end the night with a little something for the lovers out there.” Jaybird winked to the crowd. The mood of the music shifted from loud and bouncy to soft and smooth.

“Stars shining bright above you…”

Dean plucked up some courage with the help of his new friend, Mr. White Russian, and turned to Castiel. “you ever dance before?”

“What,” Castiel asked distractedly.

Dean hesitated; nerves kicked in. he pushed onward. “You look like you’d be a natural.”

Castiel’s blue eye darted to Dean. “I haven’t actually found the occasion to.” A hand moved to rub the back of his head; cheeks flushed.

It reminded Dean of so long ago. The two were waiting for a confrontation with the archangel, Raphael. Dean had asked Castiel if he had ever had sex with a woman before. His reaction was remarkably like that night.

It was kind of cute.

Dean glanced around the room, a sea of endless heteronormative couples. “I would ask you to dance. But I got a feeling it wouldn’t go over well here.”

Castiel smiled timidly, “Another time then.”


	9. Let's Get Ready to Rumble

**T** he discomfort Dean felt under the glare of the beady-eyed bartender at the beginning of the night did not ease up, and he had a sneaking suspicion he knew why. Dean and Castiel had not exactly been blending in with the crowd that surrounded them. Women in flowing wool skirts and hair so high they reached the ceiling. Men in sportscoats or blazers with elbow patches. And Dean and Cas so focused on each other.

The crowd grew as the night went on. Not one bare spot was noticeable on the dance floor. There was spinning and flipping. And there were glances. A gorgeous young brunette in a long yellow dress batted her eyelashes from across the room. When Dean noticed the come hither looks aimed in his direction, Castiel was in mid-conversation, telling him how Jack saved him from the empty, and all thoughts of yellow dresses disappeared.

“I made peace with my fate, Dean. But being there…it was more harrowing than I expected- reliving those memories repeatedly. But the thought of you…and Sam filled me with a sense of hope and happiness the Darkness did not appreciate.” Cas chuckled. ‘Apparently, I have a talent for being an “incessant pestilence that chafes under the skin.’ The Darkness’s words, not mine.”

Dean laughed. “Wait, the Darkness has skin?”

“I believe it was meant metaphorically,” Castiel answered.

“So, you got out again because you annoyed it enough?”

“Not quite. When Jack defeated Chuck, Jack infused his own power with Chuck’s, and already having Amara’s flowing through him, Jack became more powerful than the Darkness itself. He planned to restore the universe, heaven, everything. That included restoring angels as it is our energy that sustains heaven’s immensity. Jack did not just save me, Dean. He reawakened all of us.”

Dean gulped down his drink and ordered another round. He caught the glaring eyes of a group of men, squared shouldered and beefy, from across the bar. They looked ready for a fight, and him and Cas were their targets. Dean tried to ignore it.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering. Actually, there’s a lot of things that have been nagging at me…” Dean started.

“What is it, Dean?”

“Sam- how’s he doing?”

Castiel softly smiled. “You must miss him. I am a little surprised you waited so long to ask me about Sam. I expected that to be your first question.”

“Yea well, it’s strange. After I died and I was in heaven, I missed him, but I knew he was okay. He didn’t need me anymore and I was alright with it. But being back on earth now, being alive again, which by the way I still don’t get. I don’t know, it’s like that self-assured feeling, that inner peace or whatever, it’s like it’s slowly leaving me.”

Castiel squinted. “The grace of heaven is dissipating in you. Dean, I can only speculate as to why that is. Unfortunately, these questions only Jack can fully answer, including those you have of Sam. This anomaly is frustratingly blocking my connection with the universe and Jack.”

Dean fell silent. He was disappointed to say the least.

The minutes ticked by. Dean redirected their conversation to lighter topics- watching the dancing couples, the silly fashions. Those men kept glaring at the two of them. He had a sneaking suspicion why too- he was sitting rather close to Cas. Their knees were so close, they practically touched. If he just shifted slightly closer, his right knee could be right in between Castiel’s. He blushed from the thought. Thankfully, the lighting in the lounge was dim, and Cas’s attention was on the pretty dancers.

Dean thought of flirting with some of the women in the room, just to get those homophobic pricks off their backs. But the last time he did that, Castiel became grumpy and jealous and that was the opposite of what Dean’s intentions were. So, he ignored the women.

And he tried to ignore the stares. The bartender leaned towards them; the glaring became too unbearable. Dean took that as their cure to leave. He bumped Castiel’s arm toward the exit. Thankfully, that was all it took for the angel to understand. Maybe he was more aware of the glares than Dean thought.

The drive to Oak Hill Cemetery was not a long one. By the time they parked the car down a side street, hardly anyone was in sight. They filled their arms with shovels, a few other miscellaneous tools, a flashlight, and some boxes of salt. A matchbook in Dean’s pocket; the magnum, loaded with bullets, tucked in his jeans. He did not see a need for the gun, if he were honest, but it did give him a nice feeling of security, so he brought it along.

Castiel found the grave marker for Arthur Munchin shockingly easy and they got to work digging up the coffin right away.

Six feet of dirt, and who knew how many pounds, laid in a high pile beside the hole they dug from. Castiel worked on opening the top of the casket with a pry bar. Sweat dripped down Dean’s temple.

“Being back alive,” Dean reflected resting his forearms on the shovel, “I missed a lot. Stuff I didn’t pay attention to when I was alive before. Stuff I should have taken advantage of before, ya know. But this… I did not miss this.”

Castiel chuckled. “I’d be concerned if you did.” Dean snorted.

A flash of a headlight caught Dean’s eye, sobering him up. “Cas, the flashlight.”

Castiel swiftly turned the flashlight off. They kneeled to the ground, behind a few grave markers, and kept silent. But it was too late. Male voices grew louder- boisterous. The group of men from the Peppermint Club followed must have followed them, itching for a fight. 

“Hey, we know you’re out here!” slurred asshat #1.

“We already checked your car, man. We know you’re not playin’ backseat bingo in there,” called out asshat #2.

“Maybe they aren’t out here, Fletch.” They were only a few feet from where Dean hid, behind an angel statuette, judging by how much louder than the other two asshats were.

“Those friends of Dorothy are out here, Sed.”

Castiel was crouched in a similar position parallel to Dean, the newly dug hole in between. They both shared a look and stood at the same time, catching the men off guard.

Fletch (asshat #1) was the biggest of the three- taller than Dean (taller than Sam), squared shoulders and broad chest. Sed (asshat #3) was the shortest. Asshat #2 stood closer to Dean. He leered at Castiel with a wink. Dean was going to kick his ass.

After observing the bullies, Dean inwardly smirked. This was going to be a piece of cake.

“Gentlemen.”, Dean said raising his arms in mock-surrender. “You guys look pretty sensible. No one wants a fight here. So why don’t we stow the homophobic slurs and call it a night. Huh?”

Asshat #2 sneered. “Now, who here said we weren’t wantin’ to fight?”

“Oh,” Dean shifted defensively. “Well, in that case, let’s rumble, big boy.”

***

The rain pelted down like a Gatling gun with infinite ammo, the sound of it hitting against the windows echoed through the stuffy train car.

Sam could not get a clear view of Claire who was somewhere to his left, fighting off one ugly female vampire. Sam was fighting his own ugly vampire, though not very well. His face was planted into the dust covered ground of the abandoned car, his body wedged in between two bench seats, and he couldn’t get any leverage.

“Claire!” Sam grunted out.

Fear seized him for that split second, waiting for a response from his partner. Even with his own life being mortally threatened, his priority was his partner. Grunting followed the sound of sharp steel meeting flesh. A heavy thud reverberated on the floor, where Sam’s head was forced down. A bloodied head rolled by.

“I’ve got ya, Sam.” Claire breathed out.

Suddenly, the weight was lifted off Sam’s back and he immediately jumped-up straight, groaning along the way. He looked to Claire, who already had her steel blade up in the air, blood dripping to the hilt. The second vampire, headless, fell to the floor.

They both breathed sighs of relief. Seven headless bodies surrounded them. Two more were outside. It was a gory horror show. The two hunters were covered in blood, not theirs, and guts and other things Sam did not want to consider at the moment. They were lucky to come away with only bruises.

“Thanks,” Sam said.

He was about to make some pop-culture reference Dean would have enjoyed. He stopped when Claire’s smiled turned down. Her eyes stared right behind him. He quickly twisted to see a male vampire- big, (bigger than him), broad with sharp teeth, a deep gash across his forehead, and he was angry.

Sam readied himself in a defensive stance, determination pouring out of his pores.

The vampire snarled, “Let’s rumble, big boy.”


	10. Backseat Bingo

**T** he semitransparent spirit of Arthur Munchin loomed just behind the oblivious bullies. Fury over his disturbed body exuded from the ghost like pus oozing from an infected wound. Dean had to think fast. Before Arthur Munchin could make his move, the hunter made his own.

With arms spread, he tackled assbutt #2 causing them both to fall to the ground. Dean took advantage of his position above the bully and punched him in the jaw. It did not last, however. Sed took a cue from Dean, jumped from his left side, and knocked him off assbutt #2. Dean first thought Sed to be the puny of the three, but what he lacked in muscle he made up for in speed. He was a slippery one and Dean was getting fed up with these bozos, especially since there was a ghost that looked ready to be tagged into the fight.

He glanced towards Castiel who, thankfully, was winning his own fight against assbutt #1. Fletch was huge comparatively to the angel, like a freaking stone pillar. But Fletch never led his own garrison. Castiel spun around behind the big guy and jumped on his back, his arms tight around the burly guy’s thick neck slowly blocking air to his windpipe. Castiel held on long enough until Fletch kneeled to the ground, lost consciousness, and subsequently fell face first onto the mossy ground.

Distracted by the bullies, Dean did not see Arthur Munchin rapidly come at him. With an immense invisible force, Dean was thrown back, landing by the edge of the open grave. He had to get rid of this ghost fast.

“Holy shit, what the hell is that?” Sed cried out. He finally saw the ghost of Arthur Munchin.

Sed’s shout alerted the rest of the group. 

“Dean!” Castiel belted.

“I’m alright! Just get the salt!” Dean ordered.

Dean twisted around towards the ghost just in time to get knocked back, away from the grave. Castiel emptied a box of salt over the casket and patted his pockets for a match.

When he remembered that Dean had the matches he called, “Dean- “

“On it!” Dean quickly scrambled up, pulling the match box out of his own pocket.

Castiel stood behind Arthur Munchin, the pry bar held tightly in his hands. He swung the iron bar through the ghost. Arthur Munchin disappeared, his spiritual essence going out like a puff of smoke. Dean quickly lit the match when the ghost reappeared angrier than before. Dean dropped the lighted match onto the opened casket, burning the remains of Arthur Munchin.

The ghost’s look of rage turned to that of anguish. An unearthly scream bubbled up from the spirit as it burned along with its body until it was finally gone.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief for a job well done. The ghost of an unrestful spirit can rest once again. Castiel stepped towards his friend, sharing in the respite.

Castiel quickly straightened, a crunch of dirt behind Dean. He whipped himself around and ducked just in time as assbutt #2’s closed fist whizzed by his ear. Dean grabbed the outreached arm and pulled it back flush against the bully’s back, his elbow at an awkward angle. He moaned, “All right, all right. I give!"

“What’s the magic word?” Dean tightened his grip.

“Ahh!”

“Dean,” Castiel admonished.

Dean pouted, letting assbutt #2 go. He stepped back instantly, clutching his sore arm. “You guys are nuts.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect.” Dean shrugged.

Sed rose from the ground on shaky legs. He and assbutt #2 collected their other hapless compatriot and shuffled back through the cemetery gates.

“Dean,” Castiel tilted his head in confusion, “what is ‘backseat bingo’?”

“uhh…” Dean stammered.

“Is it a road trip game?”

Dean cleared his throat. “Uh…Hey, Dead body burning. We should probably pack up before anyone decides to pick a fight.”

“I will find out, you know.”

“Yea, but not tonight, buddy.”

Hunter and angel stood watching the fire in comfortable silence. A thunderclap rebounded through the night sky.

***

Deep gash vamp held Claire by the throat with one hand, her legs frantic, trying to make physical contact with the big guy’s torso but she couldn’t reach. Sam laid unconscious in the mud outside the train car for a long two minutes from a brutal whack across the chest, his shirt torn showing the bloodied slash of vampire nail.

She was beginning to lose hope when a groan came from the corner.

“Sam,” Claire choked out.

The fear and desperation in Claire’s voice was enough for Sam to force himself onto wobbly legs. Rain bullets bounced off the blade Claire had dropped during the scuffle. Sam slowly limped toward it, grabbed it by the hilt, and mustered all his residual strength for one last swing.

Suddenly, a burst of bright light engulfed the car, Sam shielded his eyes from the intense light. A piercing screeee sound ripped through the air. Sam dropped the blade on instinct and covered his bleeding ear drums. With eyes closed, he had no idea what was happening. His only thought was “Jack, please protect Claire”.

A ‘scrunch’ sound. The screeee noise lowered in volume until it stopped completely and disappeared. The light dimmed until all there was left was the dim light from the sun.

The storm was finally dissipating.

Sam lowered his hands and opened his eyes to the sight of Claire standing before him unblemished and otherwise healthy. But she was not alone. Standing right beside her, in all his glory was Jack, smiling and waving at Sam.

“Hi, Sam. We need to talk.”

***

Dean and Castiel gathered their supplies and headed back to deposit them in the trunk of the Bel-air. Everything was in its place, yet Dean still had that niggling feeling. His hand on the top of the open trunk to steady himself, he plowed on.

“Why didn’t you meet me?” Dean asked. Castiel turned to face the hunter. “Cas, why did I have to hear from Bobby that Jack saved you?”

Castiel sighed searching for the right words. “I suppose I wasn’t ready.”

“You weren’t ready” Dean scoffed, lowering his arm. “I thought heaven was fluid. You had boundless amounts of time, and you weren’t ready?”

“Dean, last I saw you I opened my heart to you in the most… bare and vulnerable way a person can…to a man I know could never reciprocate those feelings.”

“So, what? You take it back?” Fear trickled through his voice.

“No,” Castiel said resolutely. “I wasn’t ready to face you because I didn’t know what to say. And, at the same time, I knew exactly what to say to you. I have thought of countless ways you would react and respond, Dean. I suppose, in the end, I just… got cold feet. But, Dean, I would never take back what I said. Because I have never meant anything more profoundly.”

Dean swallowed. “Okay.” The angel turned toward the passenger side door. “Cas.”

Before he could change his mind, Dean reached a hand over the empty space that separated him and Castiel. His fingers clasped the angel’s wrist, twisting him around until their bodies’ centimeters apart, lips slightly parted. A flutter of nerves escaped Dean; hesitant lips met his own. Castiel stood stiffly at first. A moment of shock subsided. Unsure lips became more demanding. Arms soon found their way around Dean’s neck pulling him closer.

Dean was lost in the sensation of heat and passion, skin against skin as the kiss became more demanding. A moan rumbled from one of the two. Dean was not quite sure which. He didn’t really care either. Kissing Castiel felt like he was back in heaven. Except this was better.

They both slowly pulled away needing to catch their breath but stayed in each other’s orbit.

Dean softly said, “I’ve been waiting to do that.”

“For how long?” Castiel gazed longingly.

“Too damn long.”

Dean pulled Castiel in for another deep kiss. He was more than willing to stand there for the rest of the night, hell for the rest of his life.

The blearing sound of a distant cop car jilted the two out of their embrace. They scrambled into the car with stupid wide grins plastered on their faces. Dean brought the car to life with a turn of the key. The radio hummed with a quiet static.

Castiel’s stiffened in his seat, smile disappeared. “Dean, the anomaly.”

“It moved?” Gray clouds enclosed the black sky, thunder roared from up above. A lightning bolt unexpectedly crashed in the distance, lighting up the sky for a brief second.

“A lightning storm.” The static hum from the radio changed frequency. A disjointed voice resounded.

“Is that?” Dean was almost afraid to say his name aloud.

The static cleared. The disjointed voice urgently responded. “Dean!”

“Sam?! Well, ain’t that a son of a bitch.” Dean exclaimed.

The sky ripped open once more, lightning collided with the Bel-air, sending electric shockwaves through its chrome exterior. Inside, however, was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted the ending to seem like an episode with a mystery still to solve. How are Dean and Sam connected? Will they ever find the anomaly? Please leave comments if you enjoyed, or even if you didn't enjoy. Is it worth writing a sequel????? Let me know.


End file.
